


Dreaming of You

by jankmusic



Series: The Drabble Collection [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dreaming, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mentions of Previous Drug Use, Mentions of Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jankmusic/pseuds/jankmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes doesn't dream, until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is day 14 of the One-a-Day Challenge. Look at me! I've been doing this for two weeks now, and I've written so much! It's exciting!

If the sun was shining brightly on 221B Baker Street, the occupants of Sherlock Holmes’s bedroom would have been unaware. The drapes were pulled tightly over the windows, blocking out any light (or lack of) into the bedroom.

 

But that didn’t mean the occupants of 221B Baker Street were asleep. In fact, Molly Hooper was blinking her eyes tiredly at her boyfriend as he stared at her, wide eyed as if he had been awake for quite some time. Molly squinted at Sherlock, her glasses resting on his bedside table. “You been ‘wake long?”

 

“Only an hour. I do not require much sleep, but due to our activities,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, which made Molly giggle and nuzzle his chest, “I was quite tired when I finally fell asleep last night.”

 

Molly wrapped her arm around him, relieved that their first morning after wasn’t awkward like she imagined it would be. Waking up beside Sherlock Holmes was quickly moving to the top of her favorite things list. (She determined she would need _a lot_ more data before it took over the number one spot.) She sighed softly as Sherlock ran his hand up and down her back, his other hand resting warmly on her arm that was thrown across his body.

 

“What did you dream about last night?” Molly asked suddenly, looking up at Sherlock.

 

To her surprise, he stiffened beneath her and stopped his ministrations on her back. He hesitated for a moment, and Molly could see his Adam’s apple bob, almost nervously. “I do not dream, Molly.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Not since I was using.”

 

“Sorry,” Molly murmured kissing his chest before resting her cheek over his heart. For a moment the silence that hung over them was heavy and Molly was greatly regretting asking the question. Then Sherlock responded softly,

 

“Don’t apologize. You were just curious.” After another minute, he started his ministrations again, hoping that the tension he felt in Molly’s shoulders would dissipate. A few moments passed before Sherlock asked, “What did you dream about last night?”

 

Molly looked up at Sherlock, and he could see her eyes glittering mischievously. “I’ll give you three guesses!” she said, and before she could reach up to kiss him, he flipped them over so she was sprawled on her back.

 

“Three guesses? I hardly need one.”

 

\-----

 

John Watson tried hard to keep his eyes open as he stared blearily at Sherlock Holmes. He wasn’t entirely sure how they got inside this particular cab, or whether or not they finished the case. He just knew his shoulder was aching and the muscles were painfully stiff, his lungs were burning after running what felt like miles, and even though he was a doctor, he was certain his legs were going to fall off.

 

Even though Sherlock Holmes believed himself to be invincible, his body was in similar shape. It had been nine days working this case, and with hardly six hours of sleep beneath his belt, he was aware of his cognitive functions dwindling. He hated to admit it, but he knew his body couldn’t take a beating like this again; his ability to deduce had been cut by seventy five percent, and that wasn’t good.

 

“Sherlock?” John groaned, when he realized they were getting close to Baker Street. How did the cabbie know where to take them? He couldn’t remember giving him an address. “Sherlock!”

 

“What?” Sherlock was sprawled out beside him, his head lolling to the side.

 

“Text Molly, eat a sandwich and drink some water, and then go to sleep. That’s all you’re going to do. Doctor’s orders.”

 

“’kay…” he grumbled, struggling to sit up as he realized he was nearing his flat.

 

When they stopped outside the flat, Sherlock took a moment to open the door; he felt incredibly drunk. The cabbie turned to him and asked, “Do you need help?”

 

“No, no, no!” he groaned, throwing open the door. He almost went inside without paying, but then he dug into his Belstaff pockets until he found his wallet. He removed enough money for his and John’s fares and said, “This is enough for both.”

 

Then he stumbled towards his door, taking a few moments to get the key into the lock. His hand eye coordination was particularly failing and he knew if he didn’t get rest soon, his body was going to start shutting down.

 

He managed to get up the stairs without too much noise and made a beeline to his kitchen. Using just the light from his fridge, he assembled a sandwich of bread, cheese, and some type of meat, and all but shoved it in his mouth. Then he opened a bottle of water and chugged it before tossing the empty bottle on the counter.

 

He began undressing as he stumbled from the kitchen, shedding his beloved coat and scarf on the floor, which soon followed his shoes, socks, and shirt. In his bedroom, he tossed his mobile phone onto the bed, and then dropped his trousers and pants in one foul swoop before dropping onto his bed and burrowing beneath his duvet. He was asleep by the time he sent a hasty text to Molly.

 

_‘Home. Sleeping now. Don’t worry.—SH’_

 

\-----

 

Sherlock woke with a start, and for a few fleeting seconds, he had no idea where he was or what woke him up.

 

Then he felt an incessant cramping coming from his bladder.

 

Eyes wide and knowing he was probably only seconds away from wetting himself, he jumped out of bed, grabbed his privates, and wobbled to his bathroom. One of the benefits of John and Mary living together out of Baker Street was that he could be completely naked and grabbing himself and no one would complain. John would always get cross when he traveled around naked. The body was just transport, after all. (Or at least, it was just transport until he became intimate with Molly Hooper. Then the body took on a whole different—and much more satisfying—meaning.)

 

After relieving himself and eating another two sandwiches, he went back to his bedroom and got into bed. He wasn’t as tired as he was earlier in the morning, and he took a chance to think about the case. The sooner he could get it sorted into his Mind Palace, the better.

 

Instead of images of the criminal and the chase flashing before his eyes, he only saw Molly. She was wearing an outfit he knew wasn’t in her wardrobe, and she was hovering over his shoulder, staring at lab results. He tried to remember when he and Molly worked together last and whether it was pertinent to the case; it took him several long moments before he realized these weren’t actual memories.

 

He dreamed about Molly Hooper. The dream wasn’t that interesting as far as he could remember. He and Molly were just in the lab, working together. The bright blue of her blouse she had been wearing stood out in his mind though. She had looked quite pretty in that color.

 

He reached for his phone and saw that it was only seven in the morning, which meant he slept for less than three hours. He was already falling asleep as he texted Molly again, knowing she would be even more pleased with his second text.

 

_‘I dreamed of you earlier this morning.—SH’_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


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